


Running In Circles

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras doesn't understand love, He doesn't understand Grantaire either, M/M, Or his own feelings, Other characters and mentions of ships too but that would be too much to tag, Smut and angst and fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relief hits Enjolras like a tidal wave. How silly to think something so foolish, even for a moment. To think Grantaire is in love with him.</p><p>"I'm sorry!" Enjolras turns away, strides to Grantaire's wardrobe and opens it. The red leather jacket is there, of course. "Grantaire, you don't believe in anything, and so you don't believe in love. And how could you love if you don't think it even exists?" Enjolras grabs his jacket. "You want to explain how this just happens to be here?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running In Circles

"You alright?"

Enjolras flinches, glancing away from his laptop. Combeferre's eyebrows climb over the dark frame of his glasses.

"I'm fine." Except for the headache blooming behind his curls. A pain that, Enjolras knows from experience, is just the storm clouds gathering in the distance; a warning that without a painkiller he's going to spend the evening pitifully whimpering into his pillow, pathetic and useless. It always happens after several stressful days of studying and drinking too much coffee and not having time for anything but a sandwich devoured on his way to his next lecture.

It's his body screaming at him that enough is enough, Joly once told him. But there are prices one must pay occasionally, and a terrible headache isn't _that_ much.

"Joly confiscated the painkillers last week," Combeferre tells him as he lowers his book. His eyes flicker from Enjolras' knitted brows to his lips pressed tightly together, reading his expression better than any book. Enjolras stopped being surprised by it years ago.

"What?" Enjolras shakes his head in disbelief, the movement resulting in a sharp stab of pain. He grits his teeth. Fucking Joly, why?

"Someone told him they cause liver problems or something like that." Combeferre gives him an apologetic smile. "I tried to stop him but he looked so terrified. I thought I'll just go to the pharmacy later, but then Courfeyrac started to panic about buying the perfect present for Jehan and somewhere between all the potpourri hunting and fifty romantic comedy trailers I forgot about it. Sorry."

"No, it's okay." Combeferre already spends too much time taking care of them, and it's not his fault. It's not Joly's fault either, not really; he worries because he doesn't want anything to happen to his friends. "Liver problems, hm? How come he doesn't confiscate Grantaire's arsenal of booze, then?" It's a rhetorical question, of course. "I have to get the painkiller as soon as possible, I still have a lot to do tonight."

He has at least twenty pages open, political news and social justice forums and discussions about the Spring of Nations and one gay porn video recommended by Courfeyrac because _dude they legit do it on a Tricolore that's insta-boner for you right?_

"I can go," Combeferre offers, already reaching for his bookmark. Enjolras shakes his head slowly, more careful this time.

"I need some fresh air."

Enjolras grabs the dark green cardigan lying on the armrest of the couch. It smells like cigarette and cheap deodorant, and Enjolras freezes for a moment. Did Grantaire go home last night wearing only his shirt?

He finds the answer when he realizes his favorite jacket is missing. The red leather jacket with the golden buttons that Grantaire once called _just as pretentious as its owner_ , yet can't stop running his fingers over it as he kisses Enjolras and holds him close with one arm around his waist.

"What are you smiling about?" Combeferre asks, his eyes shining strangely behind his glasses.

"I'm not…" Enjolras pulls his boots on quickly. "Should I buy something else?"

"No, I went to the grocery store this morning. Take care."

It hits Enjolras after he closes the pharmacy door that the weird look in Combeferre's eyes was eerily similar to how he sometimes looks at Courfeyrac when he gushes about Jehan's poems or smiles or ass. Whoa. Surely Combeferre can't think the two relationships are similar in any way except that there's sex. But Enjolras doesn't have time to mull over it because suddenly someone grabs his shoulder, and the next moment Enjolras is walking arm in arm with Grantaire. Grantaire smiles up at him cheerfully before his eyes widen in concern.

"Why were you in the pharmacy?"

"My head hurts," Enjolras explains as he fumbles with the painkiller, a rather difficult task with Grantaire clinging to him.

"I don't get why you're so eager to destroy your body with no sleep and studying until your brain shuts completely down." Grantaire tilts his head to the side, blinking seriously.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Enjolras stares at him. "This is really rich coming from you. Do you ever drink anything less than forty percent alcohol?"

Grantaire rummages through his weather-worn messenger bag. He raises his silver flask high with a proud smile.

"Coffee. It'll help you swallow your magic pill." Enjolras allows a small smile to grace his lips as Grantaire lets go of his arm and gives him the flask. "Not that you have problems with swallowing."

Enjolras would glare at him, but he's too busy coughing and almost spitting everything out because no fucking way is that coffee.

Grantaire doesn't even have the decency to look sorry. He just shrugs with a nonchalant grin as he takes the flask back.

"It's Irish coffee." Grantaire drinks as Enjolras lets out a long-suffering sigh. "By the way, you're wearing my cardigan? Cute."

Enjolras ignores the… mockery? Compliment? He never knows with Grantaire. "Did you steal my jacket?"

Grantaire looks mock-hurt. He takes another swig. "No way. I would never dare to do something so despicable." Enjolras narrows his eyes. "Hey, if you don't believe me you can look into my wardrobe."

"I have to go home," Enjolras says. "I have important research to do."

"Important research?" Grantaire echoes, eyes wide. "On a Friday night?"

**_My my_ **  
**_At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender_ **  
**_Oh yeah_ **

"You like ABBA?" Grantaire asks as Enjolras fishes his phone out of the back pocket of his pants.

"Courfeyrac made it the ringtone when Marius calls. I forgot to change it back."

Grantaire laughs. He pushes a hand into his hair, and Enjolras watches him. He suddenly wishes he could bury his hands into the mess of dark curls too, like he so often does when they kiss, Grantaire's eager tongue licking into his mouth, or when Grantaire's five o'clock shadow teases the oversensitive skin of his inner thigh, or when…

"You don't want to pick it up?"

_**Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to** _  
_**Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to** _

"Friends would never abandon each other in time of desperate need, right, Enjolras?" Marius starts in lieu of a greeting.

"Of course not." Enjolras blinks. "What do you need?"

He can hear Marius' relieved sigh. "Please pretend to be legit boyfriends with R and go on a double date with Cosette and me tomorrow."

What?

"Who is Cosette?"

"She's the love of my life!"

"The girl you met on Monday after lunch?" Enjolras tries to make his voice as devoid of sarcasm as possible. If Grantaire's amused snicker is any indication he doesn't really succeed.

Alright, maybe he didn't try very hard.

"The girl who stole my heart for the rest of my life with just a glance of those angelic eyes." Enjolras can hear the sappy smile. He tries not to cringe. "So. After a little support from Courfeyrac and Jehan I walked to her and I coughed and then she turned around and said 'Hi', with this smile that was like… You should have seen her, so you would have known what I'm talking about! So she said 'Hi' and I said 'Hey', and then I noticed her croissant so I asked if she likes croissants, which I know was probably a dumb question but she was still smiling at me and my heart was…"

"Can we get to the important part?"

Marius doesn't sound offended. "Okay, yeah, sorry. So we talked and then I was like 'A date?' and then I realized that _shit_ , this was our first conversation _ever_ , so I was ready to say I was just kidding but then she smiled again and said 'Sure!', and then I got kind of, um, just a little scared, and asked what she thinks about double dates. I just didn't want to be totally alone with her, okay? I thought about Courfeyrac and Jehan first, but they said they're busy tomorrow. A poetry reading night at a literary café thing or something. And I thought about Joly, Bossuet and Chetta too, but I told Cosette that I want to invite two of my friends, so… You and R are my only hope, Enjolras." When Enjolras doesn't answer instantly Marius adds, his voice pleading. "You promised you'll help!"

"Let me discuss it with Grantaire. I'll send you a message with our answer."

He ends the call before Marius could say anything. Grantaire stares at him, waiting.

"Let's go to your place." Enjolras sighs, his eyes flickering to Grantaire's curls and then down to his slightly parted lips. It's just as effective as saying 'Let's go to your place and fuck me into your mattress', but a bit easier.

Grantaire grins cheekily in answer.

"So, what exactly should we discuss?" Grantaire asks when they arrive to his apartment.

Enjolras explains it as quickly as he can as Grantaire opens the door and ushers him in.

"A double date? What the fuck?" Grantaire kicks his shoes off.

"He must have seen it in one of Courfeyrac's romantic comedies." Enjolras reaches for Grantaire and almost trips over a carton box full of old palettes. Grantaire mouths _shit, sorry_. Enjolras just shakes his head as his fingers curl around Grantaire's arm. "Marius lives with him; there's no way he could have avoided watching at least a few. Anyway."

They kiss, and Enjolras can't help but sigh into Grantaire's mouth because _finally_.

All they had last night was a quick hand-job, a ten minutes break while Combeferre was taking a shower, no kissing because _I just brushed my teeth and you smell like vodka_ , and then Enjolras told Grantaire that he has to go back to studying and _please don't bother me_. Grantaire stayed for a little while, exchanging a few words with Combeferre about Marius' plight while drawing mustaches on the photos in the latest issue of _Le Nouvel Observateur._ Then he left with a nod to Combeferre and a small kiss pressed to the top of Enjolras' head that made Enjolras scoff and Grantaire grin coyly.

Now Enjolras doesn't even mind the taste of Irish coffee on Grantaire's tongue that much. It's not exactly like Enjolras got distracted daydreaming about this during his lectures, but now it does hit him that he missed the desperate press of Grantaire's lips and his little moan when Enjolras sucks on his lower lip.

"Sure. It sounds like fun."

Enjolras frowns. Grantaire is looking at him with unsure eyes.

"You don't want to?"

Enjolras shrugs. He wraps an arm around Grantaire's shoulders, pushes his fingers into Grantaire's curls.

"I don't really see the point?"

"The point is helping our friend?" Grantaire asks, smiling when Enjolras's fingers tug at his hair playfully. "If you don't want this then tell him now, so he has time to find someone else. Which is a nearly impossible task, actually."

"Why?" Enjolras asks, confused. "Courfeyrac and Jehan are busy and I get that the trio can't go because Marius said two, but even if I don't go there's still… you, Combeferre, Feuilly, Bahorel, Eponine. That's five. Surely at least two are free tomorrow. And willing to pretend to be together."

"Eponine…?" Grantaire is often mock-surprised by what he believes is Enjolras' 'childish naivety' or 'idiotic idealism', but to catch him in a moment of genuine shock is not an easy thing. "Enjolras, seriously? I know you can be terrible, but wow. That's just plain cruelty."

Enjolras suddenly feels out of the loop.

"What is plain cruelty?"

"Um, you know. She's in love with Marius. Do you really want her to pretend to be dating someone else while Marius acts like the lovesick fool he is with another girl?"

"She's in love with Marius?" Enjolras tries to recall some pivotal moment he must have missed. "Ah. I remember overhearing you and Jehan talking about something like that…"

Grantaire shakes his head, pure disbelief spilled all over his face. "Or maybe all the wistful sighs and how her eyes always follow him and how she smiles every time he touches her shoulder or dances with her and all the bittersweet love songs she sings on karaoke nights with her eyes glued to Marius? Nothing?"

"I have better things to do than keeping track of who is pining after who!" Enjolras scowls, surprising himself with how defensive he sounds. Why does Grantaire sound _mad_ at him for not knowing about Eponine's unrequited love of all things?

"You act like you care so much about everyone, yet you don't know anything about your friends' feelings!" Grantaire sounds bitter, and Enjolras wants to go back to kissing him, because this whole conversation is rather confusing and frankly totally silly.

"Well, Courfeyrac and Jehan are dating, so are Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta. Apparently Eponine is in love with Marius, who is into Cosette, who I don't know what feels because I have yet to meet her but she must at least like Marius if they're going on a date. That's it, I think. Did I miss anyone?"

Grantaire looks taken aback, and then there is… something in his eyes. Something definitely not pleasant. Enjolras feels like he's missing something. Possibly something important.

"What? Come on, don't tell me _you_ are in love with someone?"

Grantaire looks like Enjolras just slapped him. Enjolras instinctively lets go of his shoulder, his fingers sliding out of Grantaire's curls. He takes a step back, and then another, and Grantaire is still frozen, his eyes wide and hurt.

Enjolras doesn't remember ever seeing Grantaire look so raw. There were times when Enjolras said something too close to the bone that made Grantaire's lips twist into an angry smile or made him turn away to hide his humiliation, but this is something worse than ever before.

Enjolras' heart twists with something he can't name.

And for a moment Enjolras thinks; _God, is he in love with_ me _?_

No.

Enjolras knows Grantaire is very attracted to him, can't stop staring at him during meetings, his gaze so intense (bordering on _adoring_ , sometimes) it's a bit distracting, and the less said about how they're in bed the better. And Enjolras thinks there's maybe a tiny little part of Grantaire, buried somewhere under all his terrible, poisonous cynicism, that admires and envies Enjolras' dreams and faith.

But that's all, isn't it?

"Enjolras, you mock me!"

Relief hits Enjolras like a tidal wave. How silly to think something so foolish, even for a moment. To think Grantaire is in love with him.

"I'm sorry!" Enjolras turns away, strides to Grantaire's wardrobe and opens it. The red leather jacket is there, of course. "Grantaire, you don't believe in anything, and so you don't believe in love. And how could you love if you don't think it even exists?" Enjolras grabs his jacket. "You want to explain how this just happens to be here?"

"Maybe it got bored of you doing nothing but reading and writing all that dull stuff."

Enjolras would throw something witty back, something about how his jacket surely must have felt disappointed when it realized Grantaire is doing nothing but watching porn while drinking wine straight from the bottle. But all that talk about love (and the long, terrible week behind him) makes him feel a little exhausted, so he doesn't bother.

"Sorry if I offended you. It wasn't my intention."

Grantaire just shrugs, and beckons him closer.

They fall against each other, mouths colliding messily. Enjolras' jacket falls onto the floor. They struggle with Grantaire's cardigan (it's like the one Enjolras is wearing, except a more blueish shade of green) for longer than necessary because they stop to kiss again and again. Once it's thrown somewhere behind them Enjolras grips the hem of Grantaire's shirt – an old white shirt that smells faintly like cigarette and laundry detergent, and there's a yellow splash of paint on it – and he just manages to pull it over Grantaire's head when –

**_My my_ **  
**_At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender_ **  
**_Oh yeah_ **

"Oh fuck no." Enjolras can feel Grantaire laugh against his shoulder. Grantaire's hands slide into the back pocket of Enjolras' pants, and Enjolras presses back before he realizes that Grantaire is looking for his phone.

"Well, you did promise him you'll send a message." Grantaire slaps his ass once, his grin dirty and god, all Enjolras wants is to push him down onto his bed and ride him for the rest of the night.

"What are the chances that he'll find anyone else?"

Grantaire snorts and gives him the phone.

"Hey," Marius starts. At least this time there's a greeting. "So?"

"Well…" It's dumb, Enjolras thinks. "I think…" His words peter out when Grantaire opens the button of his jeans.

"I understand if you don't want to." Marius doesn't sound hurt. Or panicked. He must have found someone else willing to go along with his farce. Enjolras sighs inwardly in relief. "I'll just call Eponine, she'll surely agree, we've been friends since like forever…"

"No." Enjolras remembers _That's just plain cruelty_. He isn't very close to Eponine but when has that ever stopped him from not wanting someone to suffer? "We'll go."

"Really?" Enjolras can almost see Marius punch the air in joy. He can definitely see Grantaire shimmy out of his jeans. He's wearing a simple white boxer again; Enjolras is pretty sure he doesn't own anything but white boxers. Which is a pity, because he would look really nice in a tight black boxer, for example, a striking contrast with the pale skin of his thighs, and the outline of his cock clearly visible. "So cool! Man, I knew I can count on you. Okay, so, it's tomorrow, seven pm, the address is…"

"Actually," Enjolras interrupts him firmly, reaching out with his free arm for Grantaire. "I'm busy right now. Can you send me and Grantaire an e-mail or something?"

"It's Friday night, Enjolras. Don't tell me you're doing homework."

"I'm not doing homework." Grantaire smirks, stepping closer so Enjolras can curve his hand around his waist, his fingers playing with the waistband of his boxer. "Just send us an e-mail. Goodbye, Marius."

"If we're really gonna pretend to be boyfriends…" Grantaire swallows, and he seems nervous suddenly. "Can I give you a hickey? I know you don't want others to see it, but this time…"

"Okay, whatever." Enjolras kisses him before Grantaire could thank him enthusiastically or do something that would make Enjolras feel awkward. Grantaire acts like that sometimes, as if Enjolras letting Grantaire give him head is the same as letting him kneel in supplication in front of the altar of some ancient god. (Not that Grantaire believes in any god.)

It unnerves Enjolras a little.

They stumble into Grantaire's bedroom, fall onto the unmade bed, both of them already naked and half-hard. Enjolras hisses when the back of his head hits something, and Grantaire mutters an apology and gives Enjolras a soft peck in the corner of his lips before he puts the tattered sketchbook onto the bedside table. Grantaire has it sometimes with him during the meetings, pen or pencil moving restlessly on the paper, but Enjolras has never actually seen any of his drawings before.

"Can I see them?"

Grantaire blinks.

"Now?"

Enjolras looks up at him through half-closed eyes. There's a sweet blush on Grantaire's cheeks and his eyes are breathtakingly blue. Sometimes it's easy to forget that Grantaire can be pretty cute. He usually slouches into the lecture twenty-five minutes late, hair resembling a bird's nest and clothes a horrible mess – not a quirky mess like Jehan's outfits, but a 'dressed up half-drunk and half-asleep' mess, and flops onto the seat next to Enjolras, smelling like he bathed in brandy and smoked a dozen of cigarettes just before leaving his apartment.

"Not now," Enjolras whispers, raising his hand to trace the curve of Grantaire's lips with his thumb. "Come on, you want to give me that hickey?"

"When I'm inside you."

Enjolras whimpers at the words. He can see the corner of Grantaire's lips twitch up, and Enjolras braces himself for teasing, filthy words that he always scoffs at even as they make his dick twitch. But Grantaire just smiles at him with some indescribable gentleness that makes Enjolras' whole body flood with warmth. He squirms on the bed, and wraps his arms around Grantaire's shoulders to pull him down.

He can't bear to watch that smile any longer.

They press against each other, chest to chest and cocks rubbing together. Enjolras thinks he could come just from all that, from the solid warmth of Grantaire's body above him, from the lips that press against his temple, from the soft little moan Grantaire makes against his skin.

But _When I'm inside you_.

"How come Marius doesn't know about Eponine's feelings?"

Grantaire frowns, but he doesn't look surprised. Enjolras does this sometimes; mentions something totally off-topic with Grantaire's two fingers inside him. It's probably something even Marius would find ridiculous, but it's still better than an awkward silence, and  _definitely_ better than Grantaire telling him he looks like Apollo Helios or an angel…

"You didn't know either." Grantaire shrugs. His fingers thrust deeper and Enjolras sigh appreciatively.

"Yeah, okay." Enjolras missed this a lot, Grantaire's clever fingers stretching him, making him gasp quietly into Grantaire's pillow. Enjolras's hand twists the blanket, already half on the floor. "But Marius literally said that they've been friends since forever, and, _ah_. He must have noticed something."

"Maybe it's willful ignorance." Grantaire twists his fingers and _oh_. Enjolras' hips snap up and he grabs Grantaire's shoulder, nails digging into the warm skin under his hand as pleasure rushes through him. "Maybe he doesn't want to acknowledge it." Grantaire adds a third finger, and Enjolras' teeth sink into his lip. "Because he doesn't return her feelings." Enjolras curses softly because Grantaire's fingers rub in the most wondrous ways and Enjolras doesn't even know what Grantaire is talking about anymore, doesn't know anything but the desire for Grantaire twisting in his chest, making him pant and ache with need. "And he doesn't want to her hurt."

"Condom," Enjolras grits out, sighing in frustration when Grantaire withdraws his fingers. He feels dizzy, not because of the headache or the tiredness, but because of the sight of Grantaire's cock, curving up flushed and proud, little dark curls framing the base, the bead of pre-come on the head glistening enticingly, begging Enjolras to lick it away.

Fuck. He's waxing poetic about Grantaire's cock.

(Jehan would be proud.)

The first press of Grantaire's dick against his hole always makes Enjolras tense up even though it's no longer a new or strange feeling. But he yields after that fairly easily, and Grantaire is so slow, so careful, and once he bottoms out he waits for so long that in the end Enjolras is always the one who has to raise his hips up purposefully to encourage Grantaire to move.

"Hickey," Enjolras reminds him, not because he wants it, but because Grantaire is staring at him _like that_ again, his so very blue eyes big and shining, lips fallen open in breathless awe. He sighs in relief when Grantaire lowers his head. At first he only licks at Enjolras' collarbone and then up his neck, lips sliding reverently against Enjolras' skin, as if admiring a newly discovered place.

His cock fills Enjolras wonderfully, and Grantaire finds the slow and steady rhythm that Enjolras is already very familiar with, just as well-known as the tightness of Grantaire's fist around his erection, his hand moving up and down, thumb sometimes teasing the head and making Enjolras whimper.

What isn't familiar at all is the feeling of Grantaire's teeth sinking into Enjolras' neck, his curls tickling Enjolras's jaw. Enjolras hisses, but the pain isn't unpleasant even though it doesn't feel particularly good either. It's just strange.

(But the first time Grantaire pushed inside him felt even stranger, and hurt a bit more, and now he's used to it; now he welcomes it.

He thinks about Joly bundled up in three scarves and everyone teasing him about how _it's the beginning of summer you can't get a cold now_ , he thinks about Musichetta winking at Bossuet and Courfeyrac's triumphant cry of 'Oho, I knew it!' as he tugged the scarves down to reveal the two hickeys and Joly's cheeks were red but his eyes were _so happy_.)

Suddenly there's the telltale tightness in Enjolras' stomach and when his orgasms hits him he gasps and screws his eyes shut, his come spilling onto Grantaire's fingers and stomach, and then Grantaire groans against his neck as he comes too.

"Is your head okay now?"

Enjolras is surprised Grantaire remembered his headache. He nods and smiles a little, feeling so good he impulsively kisses Grantaire's ear, just because he can. Grantaire makes a content little moan and Enjolras feels his smile widen.

Fucking is a stress relief. Just like Feuilly's cigarettes or Courfeyrac's silly romantic comedies or Jehan's scented candles or Combeferre listening to classical music.

It's nice to lie on his back and just stare up at the ceiling, satisfied and just the tiniest bit sore, his mind blissfully empty for once in his life.

It's something like a haven, like a vacation, like a…

"Maybe I should have fucked you so hard you can't walk normally." Grantaire's words are a rush of hot air right against his ear, smug and unusually bold, and Enjolras would never admit it, not even to Grantaire, especially not to Grantaire, but the words make shivers run down his spine. "A hickey, a little limping, wearing my cardigan _again_ … If we have to pretend to be boyfriends why do it half-heartedly?"

Enjolras rolls his eyes. He stares at the orange flecks of paint on the ceiling, wonders how the fuck they got there, but doesn't care enough to actually ask. "You do everything half-heartedly, Grantaire." Grantaire makes a noise that might be an agreement, might be a protest. "Alright, roll off me. I'm going to take a shower."


End file.
